One and Only
by ilovettt
Summary: Set mostly post-Paris. Andy decides not to leave. Unexpected events transpire.
1. God Only Knows

Hi! :3  
This is my first fanfic in a really, really long time. And the first Mirandy one I've ever done, so I'm a little nervous. Each chapter (there will probably be 4 + an epilogue) is loosely inspired by a song, but it is a complete, multi-chapter story (another first for me, yikes!)

This is my take on what could've happened if Andy decided to stay.  
The rating is for later chapters, and that's a promise ;)

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**Chapter 1 – God Only Knows  
**

To say that Andy Sachs was scared shitless would be the understatement of the century. The walls of her Paris hotel room seemed to close in around her as the events of the past day swirled in her head. How could she have been so stupid? No. Stupid wasn't nearly a strong enough word for this. Not even close.

The lost look on Miranda's face as she searched for Andy in the crowd of paparazzi swarming around her haunted the young woman. She rubbed her temples in frustration and inhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling of guilt that physically clenched her heart. Fuck. Why hadn't she simply sucked it up and dealt with whatever comments and demands Miranda spat out at her? No. She just had to go and walk away from Miranda and deposit that incessantly ringing phone into the nearest available place – which happened to be a rippling fountain on the other side of the road.

She was so fired. And beyond that, she was utterly fucked. Miranda would personally fire, torture, murder, and finally watch her burn in hell for this. To start with, the phone she'd tossed into the fountain probably cost more than her month's salary, and that wasn't even an issue compared with everything else she had done. It was one of the most important days of Paris Fashion Week, and she had left Miranda to fend for herself in the middle of a raging crowd of paparazzi. And she felt like shit for doing it.

The second she'd realized how royally she'd screwed up, there was no going back. So instead she'd spent the day in a state of panic, alternating between pacing the huge hotel room that somehow managed to feel claustrophobic despite its size and curling up on the king-sized bed, sobbing at her own stupidity. She had spent hours trying to figure out what she'd say once Miranda got back from the benefit tonight. She'd come to the conclusion that no matter how good she was with words, there was no way she was going to talk herself out of this one. So she'd done the only thing she could think of: she wrote a (pathetic, now that she thought of it) note of apology for Miranda, slid it under her hotel room door and prayed that when the woman read it she'd come over and let Andy explain herself.

The truth was she was genuinely sorry. She didn't want to let Miranda down, not ever. And she had. She knew she couldn't tell the truth about why she had reacted the way she had, not without risking something that was worth much, much more than her job. To be honest, she wasn't sure she even knew why she'd acted the way she had. All she knew was that there were feelings inside her that she couldn't quite control. Feelings regarding her beautiful, blue-eyed boss that she was not ready to confront even in her own mind. Feelings that said blue-eyed beauty should under no circumstances come to be aware of.

As if on cue, there was a firm knock on her door. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She'd been waiting for hours, and she wasn't even close to ready for what was going to happen once she opened that door. Trying to gather up what was left of her dignity, Andy made her way towards the door as slowly as she could, dreading the moment she'd have to face her boss' wrath.

"Andrea?" Miranda's low, surprisingly soft voice floated through the door, "I know you're in there. Not even you could've arranged tickets for a flight out of here that quickly."

Typical. Count on Miranda to be sarcastic right before she rips your head off. Andy shuddered at the thought. Surely there was some way she could convince Miranda that it wasn't that bad after all. That she could finish her job here and then leave without a fuss once Miranda no longer needed, or wanted to see her. Who was she kidding? She was about to have both her pink slip and ass handed to her and she knew it. What was worst, with a snap of her fingers Miranda could make sure Andy never got a job in any publication in the entire country. Or in fact, the world.

Andy slid the door open, her hand shaking slightly as she tried to get a steady grip on the handle. She stepped aside, her eyes glued to the carpet as Miranda stalked past her into the room. She let the door shut on a soft click, and turned around to not-quite-face Miranda. Her eyes refused to leave the carpet and her cheeks burned with sheer guilt.

"Miranda I'm so sorry. I-"

"Why are you still here?"

Andy looked up to see two piercing blue eyes trained on herself, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "What do you mean?" Hadn't Miranda herself just declared that even Andy couldn't have gotten plane tickets this quickly?

"Don't play dumb Andrea, it's most unattractive. Frankly, I don't care why you were going to leave. It's quite obvious. What interests me is why you decided to stay."

Andy considered her options. She could say it was a momentary loss of confidence, but that would make Miranda think she was weak, which was almost as bad as telling the truth. She could plead that she'd been so stressed she didn't know what she was doing. Yeah. Even better. The truth was there wasn't really any fight left in her. All she wanted was to throw herself into Miranda's arms and tell her there was no place she'd rather be than right there with her, and she'd been so scared of that, that she'd tried to run away. But that was obviously out of the question.

"Andrea," Miranda's icy tone cut right through Andy's musings, "I'm waiting."

This was not the situation to get hot and bothered in, but when Miranda used _that_ tone, all Andy could do was try to breathe steady and wiggle her hips without the other woman sensing her discomfort. Damn Miranda and her low, seductive voice.

"Why didn't you go?" There was something almost soft about Miranda's words, like she somehow understood that this wasn't a simple decision of whether or not to leave her job for Andy.

"God only knows," Andy muttered under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut at how pathetic the words sounded even to herself.

Miranda let out a huff, her voice back to its usual superiority as she spoke again, "Speak up, silly girl. I can't make any sense of your muttering. And will you look at me when you speak to me."

Andy's cheeks burned scarlet and tears prickled in her eyes, but she did as she was told. Slowly raising her eyes to meet icy blue, she said the only thing that she could think of, "I just couldn't go, Miranda."

There was a tense silence, cut only by the incessant ticking of an antique clock on the wall, as the two women stared at each other. Neither willing to break the gaze, but at the same time too scared to speak. In the end Andy couldn't take it any longer, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall any second.

"Listen Miranda, I'm exhausted. Can we just please get this over and done with? Fire me, shout at me, bite my head off for all I care. But please do it quickly, because I need to get to bed or I'll pass out right here."

There was something unrecognizable in Miranda's eyes that made Andy's spine tingle as the older woman ran a finger over tense lips, her eyes surveying Andy. The almost-smile that flashed on Miranda's face before she spoke was nearly too much to bear.

"Why on earth would you think I'm going to fire you, Andrea?"

"I. Umm. Well. I just assumed-"

"Do not assume things, Andrea. Now get to bed. I'll need you up and about in exactly," Miranda glanced at the old clock, "four hours."

With that, the editor spun on her heals, her hips swaying from side to side as she walked out. When the door swung shut behind Miranda, Andy's brain finally caught up with what had happened. She still had her job. Miranda hadn't so much as chastised her for what she had done. And she was expected back to work at six. Shit. Shaking her head, marveling at the absurdity of the night, Andy headed towards the bedroom of her suite for her not-so-luxurious four hours of sleep.

* * *

Two weeks after miraculously keeping her job, Andy was back at Elias Clarke, running errands and answering phones just like before. Except it wasn't like before. The berating for ditching Miranda in Paris had of course transpired the very next day after their late encounter. Miranda had, in so many words, told her she was extremely disappointed by Andy's actions and that she'd better work her ass off (not that Miranda would ever use the word "ass") if she wanted to stay at Runway. And by God, she had done that. Both worked her ass off, and stayed at Runway.

But ever since they returned to New York, Miranda had been different. Not nice by any means, because in no circumstances did Miranda Priestly do nice. Nevertheless, she was bearable, at least to Andy. She didn't complain about mundane things like usually, and not once had she requested anything impossible. One morning Andy could've sworn she heard a soft "thank you" escape Miranda's lips, when she placed the day's second order of Starbucks onto Miranda's table. Her eyes widened, but as Miranda made no sign of looking up from The Book, she assumed it was just her imagination playing tricks.

It was a Monday in late October, and Andy had spent most of the morning arranging Miranda's schedule for the week. For some inexplicable reason everyone – quite literally - wanted La Priestly, and they wanted her now. Around eleven Miranda's voice floated to the outer office, "Andrea."

Andy stumbled out of her chair, trying hard not to think about how beautiful her name sounded coming from those lips. Emily's signature snicker at her clumsiness went unnoticed as Andy pulled herself together and stepped into the editor's office.

"I need fifteen skirts from Calvin Klein. Cancel my meeting with Irv this afternoon, I don't care what he says, tell him I'm busy. Tell Audrey, for the hundredth time, I do not want a single snowflake in the November issue. Is that so impossible to grasp? Dinner with Donatella on Thursday is fine, but I won't stay longer than six-thirty, the girls have a recital. Move the run-through up to half past twelve and have more Starbucks when you get back. And get me Demarchelier before you go. That's all."

Andy was already halfway out of the office, her coat in one hand and the phone between ear and shoulder as she finished scribbling down what she needed to remember. "I have Patrick," she called out, connecting the call as she turned to leave.

"Thank you, Andrea," Miranda called casually before she picked up the phone and hummed, "Hello Patrick, dear."

Andy froze. Emily looked up from her computer, her eyes wide in shock and mouth hanging open. If it wasn't for her own state of confusion, Andy would've laughed at how ridiculous the redhead looked. The two assistants stared at each other as if trying to read from the other's face if they'd actually heard right.

Miranda Priestly did not thank people. Especially not young assistants who were merely doing their job. Especially not twice within a week. Not that Emily was aware of the first time, of course. Andy wasn't stupid enough to share what she'd thought was a mere concoction of her own imagination. Now she wasn't so sure.

"What the hell?" Emily mouthed after recovering from the initial shock.

"Good day?" Andy mouthed back shrugging her shoulders, before getting out of the office as fast as her Jimmy Choo-clad feet allowed.

The elevator ride felt at least ten times longer than usual. What was going on in that brilliant mind of Miranda's? No matter how casual her tone of voice had been, Andy knew without question that it wasn't just a casual "thanks". That, plus the fact that Miranda had been acting almost nicely towards her after Paris, made Andy wonder if this was Miranda's version of calm before the storm. Maybe she'd decided to fire Andy after all. Or maybe she had some other cunning plan going on, which Andy was to be a part of. Heaven only knew the things La Priestly could, and would come up with. All Andy knew was there was something going on, and it was at the same time exhilarating and terrifying.

The elevator doors slid open at the ground floor, and after that Andy had no more time to spare for her musings about Miranda's motives. She was on the phone with Irv, refusing to listen to any of his bullshit by simply stating that Miranda was incredibly busy with the upcoming issue. After that she called Audrey, who said she'd been expecting the call and had already taken care of the little glitz. When she got into the car she ended the call only to dial again to confirm Miranda's dinner with Donatella Versace.

Things went smoothly at Calvin Klein, as Andy knew precisely what Miranda needed, having taken a peek at The Book the previous week. There was going to be a reshoot tomorrow, and she knew exactly which photo shoot it was, and what Miranda would want to be different. She was in and out the door in fifteen minutes flat, heading back to the car to get Miranda's order of Starbucks before returning to the office when her phone rang.

"Hi Nigel! What's up? Oh, the run-through. Yup. She wants it twelve-thirty sharp. Mmhm, I'm already back from Calvin Klein, I just need to pick up the Starbucks. I'll be there in no time," Andy giggled into her cellphone. Nigel went on ranting about the run-through and how Miranda was insane, and everything else that was in no way new to Andy. She sighed and tried to sound comforting as she hummed out the required "aha"s and "mmhm"s as Nigel spewed out words almost faster than Miranda on a good day.

She started to cross the street; her mind still on Miranda, only looking left after she'd stepped onto the pavement. It was too late when she spotted the black Mercedes rolling toward her.

"I mean seriously, six. I know she wants things to be efficient, but my God sometimes I wonder if she's really gone bonkers. That woman," Nigel sighed, "But I guess perfection has its price. Wouldn't you say? – Six? What was that? - Andy?"

The car hit her left side and she felt a tugging pain in her chest as she spun through the air and hit the pavement with a thud. The last things she heard before passing out were Nigel's worried voice calling her name and a familiar voice telling someone to call 911.

When she woke up, she realized who that familiar voice belonged to. Roy steadied her, keeping her firmly on the ground as she tried to get up, "Easy Andy, the paramedics will be here in a second. I don't think you should move."

"But I'm fine, I need to get Starbucks – The run-through. Nigel. Where's my phone?"

"Andy breathe. You've just been hit by a car, I'm sure everything else can wait," Roy told her calmly as she fought against his gentle grip on her arms.

Her mind whirred and she felt faint. There was a sharp pain both in her chest and left wrist, but she was sure it wasn't anything serious. She had so much to get done, it was such a busy week. Miranda would kill her if she had to spend time in hospital. Shit. With that, her eyes drifted shut and Roy caught her as she lost consciousness again.

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Yes? No? More? Let me know :)


	2. If I Kiss You Where It's Sore

Hi ya'll :) I'm baack!

I'm sorry it took a while. But I'll have you know writing this chapter has been a massive pain in my butt. Accessing my inner Miranda proved to be a lot trickier than I thought, but I'd like to think it was worth the effort. Though I'm still not sure I'm completely happy with it, but what the hell.

The song for this chapter was Better by Regina Spektor. And the inspiration for the first one (and this whole fic) was Adele's One and Only, for those who are interested :) And for those who asked, it was not Roy who ran over Andy, he was just there to pick her up, don't worry! Anyways, I'll stop rambling and let you get to the good stuff. I hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter 2 – If I Kiss You Where It's Sore**

Moments like these were why Miranda Priestly had, from the moment she was made editor-in-chief of Runway, made sure no one dared to share an elevator with her. She gripped the hem of her black Chanel skirt with shaking hands, only to let go to try and wipe off the disgusting clamminess her nerves were creating. Rationally the editor knew there was no reason to worry, as she had (quite daringly) been told by Nigel Kipling as he delivered the news of Andrea's accident. Nevertheless, ever since hearing the words "Andrea" and "car accident" in the same sentence, Miranda had been acting as though her Chanel-clad rear end was on fire.

After snapping at Emily to immediately call the hospital to make sure Andrea got the best care possible and have Roy waiting for her downstairs "right this instant" she'd paced the office for two minutes, firing questions at a terrified Nigel. What happened? Where? Why? How was she now? How did he know? The last being the only question Nigel could sufficiently answer. When Emily's shaky whisper of "Roy's waiting for you" came, Miranda had stormed out of the office leaving two pairs of gawking eyes in her wake as she strode into the elevator.

Trying to rationalize why she was rushing to the hospital proved pointless. Miranda surveyed her freshly manicured nails, tapping her foot in annoyance, knowing full well that it wouldn't make the elevator move any faster. Surely she would be as anxious if this had happened to Emily or Nigel. But as thoughts of the doe-eyed girl lying helpless in a hospital bed crept into Miranda's mind, she couldn't suppress the shudder that ran down her spine, nor the nagging feeling that she wouldn't be nearly as concerned had this happened to someone other than Andrea or one of the twins.

When the elevator doors finally slid open, she had to physically restrain herself from sprinting across the Elias Clarke entrance hall in flurry of Chanel, Prada and Choo. You're Miranda Priestly for heaven's sake, she thought to herself, under no circumstances do you run. Least of all here, in front of half of your colleagues. Least of all on your way to the hospital to see your second assistant. Wiping a stray lock of hair off her forehead, Miranda huffed at her own ridiculousness. Andrea Sachs seemed to have a habit of making her do things she wasn't used to. Things she had refused to do for years. It was terrifying.

The car ride did nothing to calm her heart rate, and poor Roy was the one who got the worst of Miranda's verbal lashing. As per usual, she knew she was being an utter bitch, but she couldn't care less. Certain people seemed to have the misconception that she had no idea how vicious she could be. On the contrary, she knew exactly how deep her sharp tongue could cut, and she was rarely, if ever, sorry for it. After years of fighting her way to the top, she'd realized it was the only way to get anything done.

Once she'd gotten most of the spite out of her system, Miranda realized that Roy was the one that had actually been present when Andrea got injured. She spent the rest of the journey cross-examining Roy about every minute detail of the girl's condition when he had last seen her. By the end of it, Miranda was convinced Andrea might, in fact, be all right. According to Roy Andrea had been fully conscious and attended to by only the best doctors, as Miranda had ordered, when he'd left her to pick Miranda up from Elias Clarke.

"We're here," came Roy's resigned declaration as the car rolled to a stop in front of Bellevue.

"Finally," Miranda snarled, slamming the car door shut after telling Roy to be back in twenty minutes sharp.

"I will not repeat myself, so listen to me," Miranda rumbled at the frail blonde at the nurse's station, "I can have you fired faster than you can say Louboutin. Where. Is. Andrea. Sachs."

"As I've told you, I'm very sorry Mrs. –"

The look on Miranda's face reduced the rest of the girl's sentence into a terrified yelp and she looked around as if asking the walls for help, her wide eyes looking like they might pop out any second.

"Miranda! It's been quite a while. I'm very glad about that, for your sake."

Rescue came in the form of Dr. James Clifton who had, Miranda presumed, been alerted the minute Emily had made her call to the hospital. Dr. Clifton was a noted doctor, available only to the very elite of New York City. Miranda had to suppress a smirk as she noticed that the nurse's shoulders sank a few inches out of sheer relief.

"Dr. Clifton! I'll say, your staff might use a little," Miranda coughed, "pruning."

The girl's eyes widened in panic and she squeaked, her cheeks flaming red as she turned back to some banal task or another on her little computer screen.

"Now, now Miranda. Let's get you upstairs to see the little patient, shall we?" Dr. Clifton smiled, and Miranda nodded curtly for him to lead the way.

Once they were out of the girl's earshot, Miranda stopped any intentions Dr. Clifton might have had of small talk by hissing, "I want her fired. Immediately. Now get me to Andrea."

As soon as the door was pushed open, a long-awaited calmness engulfed Miranda's body. She let a small smile play on her lips for a half-second as she took in Andrea's battered, yet ever radiant countenance. The smile was gone before anyone registered it, and was quickly replaced by a frown as she noticed the bruising on the young woman's cheek, shoulders and half-exposed chest. Her hard, enquiring look was met by deep brown eyes as wide as saucers as Andrea's full lips hung ajar, trying to form words.

The only sound that could fight its way through was a weak sigh of, "Miranda. Wh-"

"As I was about to tell you Miranda," Dr. Clifton jumped in, "Miss Sachs is quite a lucky lady. The only injuries she sustained were a broken clavicle, and a hairline fracture in her wrist. Other than that there are only some minor cuts and bruises."

Finally ripping her eyes away from the young brunette, Miranda spun her head around to meet Dr. Clifton's eyes with an icy glare. "Minor. You call this _minor_?" The indignation in her voice couldn't have gone unnoticed, as she took two fluid strides to reach Andrea's bedside.

Gently running a finger along the dark purple skin of Andrea's cheek, Miranda looked back at him with pure disgust in her eyes, "Look at what they've done to her beautiful face."

Realizing what she was doing, Miranda yanked her hand away as if it had been burned. The crimson blush that spread across Andrea's chest and uninjured cheek did nothing but condense the tension. The editor ran a hand through her silver hair, trying to explain to her own puzzled mind what had just happened. She was halfway to leaving the hospital out of sheer confusion, when she heard a pathetic little cough to her left. Dr. Clifton, being quite sure this was his cue to go, swiftly excused himself after telling Andrea she was free to leave once she'd picked up her medicine. As soon as the door shut behind him, Miranda turned her gaze back to the young woman beside her.

"I'm so sorry Miranda, I should've been more careful," Andrea whispered, her eyes downcast, fingers toying with the edge of the white cloth of the hospital gown.

"There's no need to apologize, Andrea. I'm quite sure it's not your fault you got run over by some maniac."

"But. But I didn't look. I was on the phone with Nigel, and it all happened so fast. I was stupid, I should've-"

"Stop." Miranda's sharp tone efficiently cut off the rest of Andrea's rambling, letting the editor continue calmly, "Stop apologizing Andrea. I'm not here to reprimand you. Although you do seem to have a habit of being a bit of a klutz, I've observed. That might have to be worked on."

The shy grin that spread on Andrea's face was nearly Miranda's undoing. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the tiny smile playing on her own lips. The young woman beamed under Miranda's gaze, before squinting her eyes and tipping her head to the side, her voice a sweet singsong as she spoke, "Are you making a joke Miranda?"

"Indeed. Contrary to popular belief I can be rather amusing at times."

"So you're not mad?"

"Angry," Miranda corrected the younger woman, but with no trace of the usual malice in her voice, "And no, I am not angry with you Andrea. This is not your fault."

Miranda's eyes softened, and she laid her hand lightly on Andrea's uninjured shoulder. For some inexplicable reason, the need to wrap her arms around the brunette's frail body was becoming almost unbearable. For a moment she simply sought out the younger woman's eyes, not quite sure what she was trying to convey.

"Just promise me one thing, Andrea, and it will be fine," Miranda finally spoke after a few moments' silence.

"Of course."

"_Never_ do that again," came Miranda's barely perceptible plea, and she let her hand fall from the other woman's shoulder. Before Andrea had the chance to respond, the editor was already out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her.

* * *

After three weeks of lounging at home, feeling like the most useless person on earth, Andy was finally back at Runway. A bright smile graced her lips as she got out of the elevator, almost daring a little hop when she reached her desk.

"You won't be in that mood for long," Emily declared with a scowl, "She's been acting like someone knotted her knickers for I don't care to think how long."

"Nothing unusual then," Andy replied, not letting the comment get her down on this beautiful day.

"Trust me. It's worse than ever."

"Emily," came Miranda's monotone voice from the inner office, and the redhead scurried out of her chair, trying to adjust her blouse, designer pants and hair all at once. Andrea let out a silent snort at the image. Some things never change.

"I want fresh Starbucks."

Andrea had no trouble hearing Miranda's demanding voice as she sat down at her desk, checking the newest emails and the editor's schedule for the day. Picking up a pen, she started doodling on a post-it, determined to hear the rest of the conversation. Not in a million years would she admit that, for the most part, she did it to listen to the low, flowing tone of Miranda's voice that she'd missed more than was legal.

"Of course, Miranda. I'll send Andre-"

"Did you," Andy could practically hear the sneer on Miranda's lips, "smack your little head on the pavement? Under no circumstances is Andrea to be running errands in the state she's in."

There was a tense pause, and Andy looked down at the arm sling that wouldn't be removed for at least another few weeks. _State_ my ass, she thought as she heard Miranda finally continue, her voice wavering slightly as she spoke.

"She'll never recover if she has to go around carrying … _Stuff_."

"I'm sorry Miranda," Emily's fake-calm voice screamed panic, "I just—"

"Details of your incompetence do not interest me."

There was another silence, during which - Andy was quite sure - Emily just stood there, her eyes wide and her brain ticking.

"That's all."

When Emily rushed out of the office, with what sounded like "bloody hell" being murmured under her breath, Andy had no time to be even a tad bit smug at her good fortune.

"Andrea?"

Miranda's soft, undemanding tone took Andy by surprise.

"Yes, Miranda?" Andy smiled wide as her eyes found Miranda's, and she could almost swear that for a millisecond, the corners of Miranda's mouth quirked up.

"Once Emily gets back, we're leaving."

"Yes, Miranda," Andy replied, trying not to notice that Miranda had just, in the span of half a minute, taken back everything she'd snapped at Emily. She turned on her heals, ready to get back to the week's schedule, when Miranda's voice dragged her back.

"And Andrea?"

"Yes?" Andy's voice quivered, and she fought harder than ever to hide the emotions that ran through her body every time she heard her own name leave those gorgeous lips.

"Are – Uh," Miranda stuttered, which was so out of character that for a moment neither of them could breathe properly, let alone continue the conversation. Finally Miranda managed to produce an articulate sentence, "How are you feeling?"

Andy's eyes boggled, and for a moment she froze again, staring at Miranda in disbelief.

"I'm. Umm. I'm. Better. Thank you - for asking."

"Good."

There was that perfect half-smile playing on Miranda's lips again. The one that Andy was slowly falling in love with. Her heart clenched, and when Miranda spoke again, she could barely stifle the giggle that built in her chest.

"That's all."

When Emily rushed back into the office, Andy tried her best to give the redhead fair warning. But the first assistant dashed through the outer office and through Miranda's door without so much as a glance at Andy. So she relented, and went straight to the closet to retrieve Miranda's trench coat and Prada handbag. When Miranda's dismissing tone floated again into the outer office, Andy tried her best not to think of the crushed look she knew would fill Emily's face.

"What? Oh _that_. I don't want that anymore."

Andy cringed, but could do nothing but cast an apologetic glance in Emily's direction as she helped Miranda into her beige Burberry. Without permission, her fingers caressed the soft silver hair at the nape of the editor's neck. She pulled her hand away, and handed Miranda the clutch, thanking God the woman didn't seem to have noticed anything. What the hell was she doing?

When the elevator doors opened, Miranda stepped in, and Andy stayed back as usual to wait for the next one. At Miranda's half annoyed, half amused nod of affirmation, she hesitated and then slowly stepped inside. But at the exact same moment, Miranda stepped forward to push the button for the ground floor, which resulted in her bumping straight into Andy's left side.

"Ow! Fuck!"

The pain in Andy's shoulder left no room in her mind for censoring. She felt like punching a wall and screaming out of utter agony.

"Andrea," Miranda admonished, "Language!"

Andy tried to breathe, squeezing her eyes shut as she replied, "I'm sorry, but shit, Miranda. My clavicle is broken, so it kinda hurts."

For a moment Miranda looked like she was about to scold Andy again, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. "I apologize. I suppose I should've been more careful."

"It's ok," Andy replied with a smirk, "Although you might have to kiss and make it better."

Andy's eyes closed and her cheeks burned bright red. She wished she could sink into the earth and never come back. Shit. Fuck. Fuckshit. What did she just say? Her thoughts were out of control, and she almost laughed, because apparently so was her stupid mouth. Why? Oh why the hell would she say that? Stupid. Idiot. Fuck.

With all the rambling going on inside her head, Andy paid no attention to Miranda, who had cautiously edged closer to the other woman. Then suddenly, without warning, she felt a pair of feather-light lips caress the bare skin of her left shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open the exact moment when the elevator doors slid open to the ground floor of Elias Clarke. When Andy's brain started functioning again, Miranda was already halfway through the entrance hall, her ass swaying in front of the girl's wide eyes. What the actual fuck?

* * *

I have this nagging feeling I stole Miranda's line about joking from someone else's fic :/ Whoever it is, I apologize, and please let me know if it's yours!

And please review if you have a minute to spare :)


	3. You Can't Start A Fire Without A Spark

Hi :)

First of all, a BIG thank you for all of the lovely people who've reviewed and put this story on alert! You've no idea how much you've made me smile with your words, each and every one of you:) It's so much more inspiring to write when you know someone's actually reading, and liking what you produce!

Oh, and a few of you commented on Andy's coarse language, so I feel the need to say this: for some reason I've always imagined that underneath that educated yet slightly awkward behavior, there's a mind that uses a lot of expletives :D I don't know why that is, but ever since I first watched the movie, I imagined Anne going "fuck" in her head every time something bad happened.. Hence the way I write Andrea :')

This particular chapter was inspired (albeit loosely) by Tegan&Sara's Dancing in the Dark.  
I hope you guys enjoy, because this is where it starts to get good.. If you know what I mean ;)

* * *

**Chapter 3 – You Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark**

Miranda was working late again, like she had done for the past two weeks. The reproachful little voice in her head chided her for missing dinner with the girls again, as she gazed down through her office window. She had always thought New York was most beautiful at night, when darkness fell upon the hectic avenues and a rainbow of billboards and neon lights filled the view. She rubbed her neck, her eyes drifting closed as she tried to work out the knots that had been forming for longer than she remembered. Success was sweet, but Miranda wasn't a fool – she was well aware of the price she paid for her fortune.

There was a soft clack of heals behind her, but Miranda decidedly ignored whoever the other late night worker was. They were all used to it by now. Miranda Priestly was not to be disturbed if she hadn't personally asked you to be there. Sighing, she let her hand fall to her lap, as she rotated her neck slowly from right to left and then back again.

The heals tapped closer, and Miranda's eyes flew open when she felt a pair of light, gentle hands on her shoulders. A stray lock of deep brown hair landed on her collarbone, and she was surrounded by a soft scent of coconut and a hint of cinnamon. The editor drew in a shaky breath, when supple lips brushed her ear and whispered, "You're so tense, Miranda. Let me help you with that, huh?"

The hands started a lazy circular motion over her aching shoulders, and all Miranda could do was nod in affirmation as a low moan escaped her lips. She shut her eyes and breathed in deep, letting her senses be overwhelmed by the engaging scent, and the firm yet tender fingers that worked on her upper back. Before she could stop herself, her lips parted and she could hear her own sultry voice humming, "Ah - _Andreah_."

The hands stopped, gripping Miranda's shoulders, manicured nails digging almost painfully into the exposed flesh of her upper arms. A tense moment passed, and Miranda knew exactly what she wanted but couldn't ask for. Then finally, she felt the girl's full lips on her neck, and a shudder ran through her body and she groaned out of sheer relief.

The hands descended, slowly making their way down Miranda's arms. She leant back, her head resting on the girl's ample chest, wordlessly granting her permission to continue. Andrea's tongue played with her earlobe, and when her hands finally found Miranda's breasts, the editor moaned again, her body aching in places she'd long thought were lifeless.

Before Miranda could register what was happening, the brunette had twirled the chair around and pushed her up, so that she was half-sitting on the desk. Andrea's hands were everywhere at once, and the only thing Miranda could think was: breathe, for the love of God, try to breathe. When a stocking-clad leg pushed its way between hers, she gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles bone-white as she gasped into the other woman's neck. Andrea's lips nibbled down along the column of her throat, and Miranda felt a hand making its way tantalizingly slowly up her inner thigh. When she spoke, her voice was only a coarse whisper.

"Please. Oh, God. Please."

Andrea's long fingers drew teasing circles on Miranda's skin, making their way from the inside of her knee almost high enough, but turning back just before they reached her crotch. On their third journey up her leg, Miranda grabbed Andrea's long, thick hair and pressed her mouth to the girl's ear, panting, "Please. I need - I need. _Now_."

"I've got you, Miranda," Andrea's soft voice whispered, and she slid her fingers into Miranda's La Perla panties.

Just when she was about to get what she wanted, Miranda startled awake, her own fingers sticky with the juices soaking her underwear. She tossed a pillow across the room, and used another to muffle her cry of frustration. She got out of bed, and felt a trickle running down her leg as she made her way to the bathroom

This would not do. It simply would not. A cold shower, breakfast, work. That was it. She refused to dwell on the dream. She simply would not think of it. Not for another second.

When she stepped under the cascading water, her hands automatically started a slow pattern down her abdomen, so much like Andre's touch in her dream. She wanted to scream at her utter lack of self-restraint, but couldn't stop herself as her hands determinedly roamed over sensitive skin. Was it really that wrong? And it felt _oh so good_, to imagine the young woman's hands moving torturously slowly down until they reached the apex of Miranda's legs.

* * *

Miranda stormed through the outer office, her mouth spewing demands left, right and center from the moment she got out of the elevator. Not acknowledging anyone, especially a certain doe-eyed brunette, she kept her eyes fixed on The Book, still making some last-minute changes in her mind. She was high-strung, mostly because the orgasm she experienced in the shower did nothing to quench the desire burning inside her. Damn that scent of coconut and cinnamon that refused to leave her alone. Damn those big brown eyes that she just knew would be sparkling up into hers, if she met them even for a fraction of a second.

She slammed the door behind her, making it quite clear to everyone that she was, even more so than usual, not to be disturbed until further notice. She had things to sort out. Such as an impending divorce she was more than glad was going to be over and done with soon. After going through the paperwork for what felt like the billionth time, she made the call to Stephen's attorney herself, not wanting any distractions. Not that having Andrea do it instead would've been a distraction. In any way. She just wanted it done as quickly and effortlessly as possible, which meant doing it herself was the wisest choice anyway. That was all.

Quick and effortless, as she had wanted, the phone call was almost over before it had properly started. Miranda, in her usual cold and collected manner, told Mr. Whatever-his-name-was how she wanted things to proceed, and that she would have the paperwork faxed to him this very afternoon, _that is all_. Then she'd promptly hung up, in the middle of the man's next sentence, already immersed in the last changes she'd made to The Book late the previous night before going to bed. Right before falling asleep and -

No. She would definitely not go there right now, she had work to do, for heaven's sake. Sighing, she ran a hand through her silver locks, her eyes pinching closed. Why was it so hard to focus when she really, really needed to get these things fixed? The divorce, not to mention how her girls had and would continue to react, and the next issue of Runway – which was promptly on its way to hell at this point. Those, and ten million other things she couldn't even think about, going on in her life, and all her mind had been able to focus on for weeks was the dazzling smile that met her without fail every time she so much as glanced at Andrea. Or the way her whole body tingled every time she remembered brushing her lips on the soft, perfect skin of the girl's shoulder.

And now she had begun to have dreams. No. A dream. She corrected herself, her face burning crimson at the thought. Because she most definitely had not had two similar dreams prior to this one. Dreams where she could hear her own shaky voice begging, as the younger woman slid a hand beneath the hem of her black Chanel skirt. Neither of which resulted in her waking up wetter than she could ever remember being, and riding her own fingers in a frenzy until she screamed her climax into a silken pillow.

There was a soft knock on her office door, and Miranda let out a small gasp, staring at the door in disbelief. Who the hell would dare? Then, without permission, a tiny smile of realization sneaked its way onto her lips. Oh, yes _she_ would. Rubbing her thighs together in discomfort, she collected herself, and murmured, "Yes?"

Andrea peeked in through the door, an apologetic, and utterly irresistible smile on her face. At Miranda's nod, she stepped inside, goofy smile still in place, her face flushed as she spoke, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Miranda. I just thought you might like your Starbucks now, since it's almost lunchtime. And you didn't have any coffee this morning, and I kind of thought you were going to work through lunch, so I thought you'd like it now, like I said and —"

Miranda held up a hand to stop the girl's rambling, but there was a spark in her eyes when she looked at Andrea, motioning the girl forward. Reaching out to take the, without a doubt, perfect and sizzling beverage from the assistant, she let her fingers brush against Andrea's for a moment longer than necessary. The tiny gasp that left the brunette's lips was so beautiful that Miranda wanted to swallow the sound, and keep it inside herself forever.

What was she thinking? This was absurd. A frown formed on her face, and she saw the smile on Andrea's face falter slightly. She couldn't help herself when a teasing smirk spread on her lips and she gave the girl a sharp look. Squinting her eyes, she realized what was bothering her.

"Did you get this yourself?" She snapped, back to the demanding editor she should've been the minute that door slid open.

She could see the defensive spark in the girl's eyes, and the words that built up in her throat before she bit her lip, and answered in a certain tone, "No. Emily did, I just thought it'd be fair if I did at least part of the job."

"Hmm." Miranda let her eyes wander slowly up and down Andrea's body as she pondered the girl's words. "Call Roy, we're leaving in fifteen minutes. Marc Jacobs. That's all."

She could almost swear the smile on Andrea's face grew wider than was appropriate at the word "we're". Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Wishful? Wait. Since when did she want a 25-year-old girl to fancy her? This was becoming absurd, even on the fashion world's standards, and that was saying something. She most definitely did not need, or want the girl to like her. No. And she didn't care for Andrea any more than anyone else in the office. It was just a – a bizarre stress reaction. That was what it was. And she would deal with it as such. If ignorance wouldn't work, she'd just have to wait it out. It could not get in the way of her everyday life. It would not.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, Miranda was sitting in the backseat of the town car, staring out the window, seemingly immersed in her thoughts. The truth was she was doing anything and everything to appear as if nothing was wrong. She'd snapped at Andrea to "take the stairs for all I care", when the girl had almost followed her into the elevator. The stricken look on Andrea's face had made her want to pull the woman into the elevator and hold her tight until they got to the ground floor, but she'd simply flicked on her Versace shades to hide the affection shining in her eyes.

She knew the girl must have noticed the complete one-eighty in her behavior, but was probably too terrified to say anything about it. Which was good, because she was not about to start explaining the reasoning behind her actions, as Andrea should be well aware of. Risking a quick glance at the woman, Miranda saw that Andrea was staring straight ahead, her red lips a tense line, fingers gripping the hem of her rather short Donna Karan skirt. Ripping her eyes away before they traveled into inappropriate places, Miranda sighed in frustration. Now she'd managed to upset Andrea, simply because she couldn't control her own emotions. It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. God, she'd begun to sound annoying even inside her own head.

After a few long moments of silence, Andrea coughed, and Miranda looked up, not sure if she wanted to hear what the girl was about to say.

"Umm. Miranda, I. Has – Has something happened?"

"What do you mean?"

Miranda hated the icy tone of her own voice, but it was the only way she could think of to distance the girl from herself at this point.

"It's just, you've been acting. Umm. I don't know. I mean. It's like I've done something wrong?" Andrea's hesitant voice made the guilt in Miranda's chest grow exponentially. But it was nothing compared to how she felt after snapping out her response.

"Andrea. Simply because I don't pat you on the head and ask how your day has been, doesn't mean _something_ has happened."

The brunette fell silent and turned her blushing face away, and for a horrifying moment Miranda thought she saw tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. There were a lot of things Miranda was prepared to witness and move on from, without so much as a second thought. Seeing Andrea Sachs cry was not one of them. If a single tear trickled down that porcelain white cheek, she wouldn't be able to resist drawing the other woman into her arms and telling her she didn't mean any of what she just said.

When they finally reached their destination, Miranda was out of the car even quicker than usual. She made her way to the other side of the vehicle in a matter of seconds, and was just about to cross the street when a steady grip on her right arm pulled her back. She spun around, and her front collided with Andrea's as she watched a huge Range Rover whisk past, exactly where her right foot had been a second earlier. Her eyes wide, she turned her head to meet the matching shock in Andrea's brown eyes. Steadying her breath, she let herself get lost in the depths of emotion swirling in the girl's eyes. She recognized fear, a spark of relief, and after a moment, the growing blossom of desire that she knew was mirrored in her own gaze.

When Andrea's grasp on her arm finally loosened, Miranda let out a breath she'd been holding for she didn't know how long. Andrea's steady gaze never left the editor's face, and when she spoke, her voice was strong and filled with emotion.

"Never do that again."

For a moment longer the two women just stared at each other, both pairs of eyes burning into the others' like there was no one else around. Then, as if realizing what she'd let out of her mouth, Andrea looked away and let go of Miranda's arm. The rosy blush that spread on the girl's skin made Miranda realize she needed to move or she'd never look away from that face again. Whirling around quicker than one should be able to on five inch heels, she marched across the street and through the door that Marc himself was already holding open in welcome. She could imagine the girl scrambling behind her to keep up, and allowed a small chuckle to leave her lips before she reached out to greet the man waiting for her.

"Marc, darling. We have some serious talking to do, wouldn't you say?"

* * *

One more chapter and the epilogue to go! :)  
Y'all still with me? Anything to ask or comment on?


	4. Another Night Without You Here

Hi there :)  
I'm super sorry this took so long, I've been busy with work (eww) and all kinds of boring real-life stuff.  
But I finally got this written and edited, so here it is!  
THANK YOU so much for the reviews and alerts and everything, you are lovely! :)

This chapter is the "last" one, there's just the epilogue after this one.  
Inspired by Cher's D'ové L'amore (cliche, I know, but I couldn't help myself;)

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Another Night Without You Here (and I'll Go Crazy)  
**

It was half past ten on a Friday night, and Andy was yet again sat behind her desk, trying to keep herself busy until The Book was ready. She'd begun to wonder if it was a practical joke the others played on her, because it seemed that at the end of the week it took twice as long to get ready. Hell, they probably went out for drinks for a while, and laughed at her having to sit around waiting.

No. Nigel wouldn't do that, and neither would Audrey, they were decent enough and had always treated Andy with much more respect than Emily or the other clackers. Besides, it was much more likely that they just didn't want to displease Miranda on a Friday, because that would mean she'd be worse than the devil himself when Monday rolled in.

She'd checked the emails at least twenty times, but of course nothing was happening at this hour. She'd tried to edit a few of the article drafts she'd written earlier, but somehow she couldn't seem to organize her thoughts enough to do even a simple grammar check. She was preoccupied by certain thoughts that were not supposed to be in her head, to say the least.

Nigel had pranced into the office early that morning, before no one else but Andy had arrived, a look of trepidation on his face as he watched her set up Miranda's office for the day.

"Heads up, Six," Nigel looked at her with what looked like pity in his eyes, "Miranda's divorce was finalized yesterday, so it's either pure heaven or absolute hell today."

"Shit."

"No idea how it's even possible. Anyway, good lu-uck!" Nigel's singsong voice floated around the office and he was gone before Andy could utter the next expletive that came into mind.

Now that she thought about Nigel's words, it was indeed odd that Miranda's divorce process had been so quick, especially considering both her and Stephen's wealth. Then again, if there was one person in New York who could have a divorce finalized quicker than you could say 'Balenciaga', it was Miranda Priestly.

Andy was still ashamed of herself for forgetting all about the divorce. It wasn't exactly fair to be lusting after Miranda, when she was going through her third, surely excruciating divorce. That being said, Andy seemed to have very little control over her own mind as of late.

It had come to a point where she wasn't even sorry anymore. This very morning, after Miranda had finished her searing hot latte and they left for the photo shoot, Andy had unabashedly stared at the editor's ass as it swayed in front of her all the way from the office to the elevator.

The elevator ride itself had been pure hell. Even though she was alone, as she had supposed that Miranda would no longer share elevators with her after the previous day, there was something about the scent in the elevator that triggered Andy's memory. The touch of Miranda's soft lips on her shoulder haunted her, and she wondered how soft other parts of Miranda would be. What it would be like to run her hands up those tight-clad legs, bunching up the Chanel skirt. To skim her hands over the soft flesh underneath, and wait for Miranda's reaction. Would she gasp? Or moan? She imagined finger-fucking Miranda until the woman couldn't even pronounce her own name.

Jesus. She was doing it again. She needed to get her mind out of the gutter before she got to the townhouse or she'd be in deep shit. Miranda had been snapping at her all day, like she was the incompetent screw-up she was when she first started at Runway. She'd been trying to ignore Miranda's mood shift, blaming it on the divorce and stress over the December issue that was due next week. But somehow it seemed that the way Miranda treated her was different. It seemed – for lack of a better word – personal. It may be just her imagination, but the way Miranda acted when they were alone was just plain weird. It was like Andy had done something horrible and she couldn't even look her in the face.

The only instance their eyes had met during the whole week was yesterday, when Andy had pulled Miranda out of the way of a speeding Range Rover. Although, the amount of emotion and fire that burned in the woman's eyes in those few seconds was enough to last a lifetime. Andy was still racking her brain trying to figure out what that look in the depths of Miranda's deep blues had meant. After the visit to Marc Jacobs the editor had been, if possible, even more snarky and clammed up than before.

_Thump_. Andy snapped out of her musings as The Book was finally delivered onto her desk with an annoyed murmur of "It's all yours." The clacker was gone before Andy could even open her mouth to say thanks. Well fuck it, she thought, it's not like any of the clackers liked her whether she was nice to them or not.

A resigned sigh left her lips as she stuck The Book in her clutch and trudged out of the office, texting Roy to let him know she was ready and making sure he had picked up the dry-cleaning. Which was of course unnecessary, since Roy had been doing this job for quite a bit longer than Andy. The truth was she needed something to obsess over. Something other than the fact that she was about fifteen minutes away from being in the same space as Miranda Priestly, and the inferno inside her body was burning hotter every second.

Andy spent most of the car ride fidgeting in the back seat, painfully aware of the wetness that was creating between her legs. She clamped her thighs together, trying to think about anything besides the fact that in a few short minutes she would be in Miranda's townhouse, a single door away from the woman who occupied her every waking moment. Not that Miranda didn't occupy her dreams as well, but that was _really_ not something she should be thinking about.

"What's up, Andy?" Roy's calm voice came from the front seat.

"Nothing. I'm just tired, you know. Friday fatigue."

Andy hated the edgy pitch of her voice, and for a moment she thought she detected a glimpse of hurt in Roy's eyes through the rearview mirror. Fucking great. Now she'd offended Roy when all he'd meant was to be nice, and all because there was a pulsating want inside her body that for some reason was completely out of her control. She couldn't remember wanting anyone this much in her entire life, and Miranda wasn't even in the same vicinity. Yet.

* * *

"Thank you, Roy," Andy said with what she hoped was an apologetic smile when they arrived at the townhouse. She got out of the car and began the excruciating way to Miranda's front door. On the front step she fumbled with the keys for a good three minutes before she managed to unlock the door and tiptoe her way into the dark foyer. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she left the lights off as she hung up the dry cleaning and then proceeded to set The Book on the table beside a vase of tulips. Just as she was about to let go of the mock-up, she heard the creak of floorboards, and the click of a lamp as a soft golden glow filled the room.

"Andrea."

Andy froze, the air leaving her lungs as her eyes found Miranda. The editor was leaning against a doorframe, her elegant features bathed in the milky glow of the desk lamp to her right. Forming words, let alone a coherent sentence seemed like an impossible task. All Andy could do was let her eyes roam over Miranda's perfect ivory skin, and when her gaze reached the bare shoulder that peaked from under the editor's blouse, there was nothing she could do to stop the gasp that escaped her lips.

Snapping out of the haze, Andy took a few steps forward, and handed Miranda The Book. She needed to be out of here right now. She turned to leave with what she meant to be a muttered "Good night Miranda", but she wasn't quite sure what left her mouth.

"Where, pray tell, do you think you're going, Andrea?"

"I – uh," Andy stuttered, her face flushed scarlet and her eyes pinching closed as she tried to understand why the hell she _wasn't_ supposed to be leaving. She turned around slowly, her eyes opening again to find Miranda's.

"Come here."

Miranda's voice was soft, and her eyes filled with so much emotion that Andy could do nothing but stare at the beautiful woman in front of her. Images swarmed in her mind: Miranda in her Paris hotel room, Miranda by her bed at the hospital, Miranda's lips brushing her shoulder, Miranda's chest pressed against hers in the street. She felt light-headed, her breath coming in short gasps as she tried to control what was left of her mind.

When Andy made no move to comply, Miranda huffed, dumping The Book unceremoniously on the side table, and closed the distance between them. She stood in front of Andy with her hands on her hips, her eyes daring the younger woman to speak.

"Miranda, I – I'm sorry. Whatever it is that I've done. I'm sincerely, really sorry."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I – Well. You're. You're upset with me. _Right_?" The last of Andy's words were a mere breath as they left her lips and she blushed even deeper than before.

Miranda rolled her eyes, and for a moment Andy thought she'd be sent home without further ado. Then, before she knew what hit her, she felt arms circling her waist, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her chest collided with Miranda's, and she was engulfed by the hypnotizing scent that she'd been dreaming of for what seemed like a century. Andy felt the woman's mouth a breath away from her own, their lips feathering each other's as Miranda spoke.

"You silly, infuriating, exquisite woman."

Andy's gasp was smothered by Mirada's lips that came crashing down on her own, as the woman pushed her back, her ass hitting one of the small tables by the wall. Without thinking, she hopped onto the table, her legs encircling Miranda's waist, their mouths fusing together. She ran her fingers through Miranda's silver hair, pulling softly at the silky strands. The groan that floated from the other woman's mouth into hers was enough to shut down what little of her brain had been operating. She pulled Miranda closer, her lips skimming down the woman's throat and her hands tugging at the off-the-shoulder blouse to reveal more perfect skin.

Andy's mouth nipped and kissed from Miranda's shoulder to her ear and back, wanting to taste every inch of skin, her lips burning from the feeling. Her hands glided down the woman's back slowly, cupping her ass and kneading the flesh as Miranda moaned, her head lolling against Andy's shoulder as she grinded against girl's crotch.

"God, you're beautiful," Andy murmured against Miranda's chest, jerking down her blouse, revealing a black satin bra that hugged the woman's breasts perfectly. Wasting only a second to appreciate the garment, Andy snapped the clasp open, pushed the cups down and felt her mouth gape open when her eyes found Miranda's puckered nipples. She pulled one of them into her mouth, sucking tenderly on the flesh, flicking it softly with her tongue. She let her teeth scrape the peak slightly before soothing the sensitive nub with her lips.

Miranda threw her head back on a low groan, her hands pushing Andy's head away. When her gaze reached Andy's enquiring eyes, there was a look of sheer determination painted on her face. She grabbed Andy's arm, and pulled her towards the staircase.

"Bed. Now."

They made it up two flights of stairs, but when they reached the second landing Andy pulled Miranda back and pushed her against the nearest wall. Her mouth ravished Miranda's and her hands pulled off the half-discarded blouse and bra that were very much a hindrance to her intentions. But before Andy's lips reached their target, Miranda whirled them around, her hands tearing at Andy's top, her body trapping the girl between herself and the wall. She flung Andy's shirt and bra unceremoniously to the floor, her hands cupping the girl's breasts, making her moan. Andy's head hit the wall behind her painfully, but when Miranda looked up in alarm, all she could do was push her breasts harder against the woman's palms.

Miranda's hands caressed her hard nipples and Andy's eyes drifted shut, her head resting against the wall. Their hips gyrated against each other, and Andy's hands skimmed up the backs of Miranda's thighs and under her skirt where she cupped bare skin.

"Oh Jesus. You're not wearing – Fuck."

Miranda chuckled into Andy's neck, the sound so sultry that Andy had to pull the woman's lips back to her own, her tongue plunging into Miranda's mouth as if she was trying to fish out the sound. Andy bunched up the black fabric, her fingers massaging the smooth skin of Miranda's ass as the woman writhed against her body, her breath coming in short gasps against Andy's neck.

Miranda's teeth tugged at Andy's ear, and she pulled away, her eyes burning with desire. Andy took a second to acknowledge Miranda's positively ravished look; her hair a disarray of silver, her bra still hanging off one elbow, the black skirt bunched up to almost-reveal what Andy knew to be bare skin. Miranda squinted her eyes, and reached out to pull Andy down the hall with her.

"I said bed."

Miranda pushed her down on the four-poster bed, and before Andy's back hit the soft mattress, the editor was on top of her, their mouths seeking out each other like they'd been doing this for a lifetime. Miranda pushed Andy's legs apart, sliding her body between the girl's thighs, where she ground down, swallowing the whimper that left the brunette's lips.

Every inch of Andy's skin was ablaze, and when Miranda's lips left hers to venture down her body, she let her eyes drift shut, her head falling back against a fluffy pillow. She felt soft lips tugging at her nipple, and she sighed, her fingers digging into the bed sheet. Then Miranda's lips skimmed down along her stomach, and after a moment Andy's pants were pushed down her legs along with her panties.

Miranda's lips traced up Andy's inner thigh, and she squirmed under the touch, her juices dripping from her core. When Miranda nipped at her flesh, only to soothe it with her supple tongue, Andy's eyes flew open and her hands grabbed Miranda's hair.

"Please. I – I need."

"You need what? Do try to articulate, Andrea."

The teasing tone of Miranda's voice alone was almost enough to make Andy come. She caught her breath, trying to form a coherent sentence, if only to get what she needed so desperately.

"I need you to –"

"Yes?" Miranda hummed, her warm breath ghosting Andy's throbbing core.

"Fuck me."

"Well you should've said so in the first place."

Before Andy could come up with a half-rational reply, Miranda's tongue licked up her slit, and she sobbed, her hips lifting off the bed to push her center closer to Miranda's mouth. Her fingers entangled into silver hair, and she tried to control her jerking hips as Miranda ate her out like a tasty dessert. The woman's tongue dipped into her core, and then circled her clit languidly, effectively driving her mad. When Miranda pulled back for air, Andy opened her eyes to meet the older woman's lustful gaze. Miranda licked her lips slowly and moaned, her eyes holding Andy's.

"You taste divine."

Andy pulled Miranda up against her body, crashing their lips together, her fingers still gripping Miranda's silky hair. Miranda's leg slipped between the brunette's thighs, and she ground down, chanting "divine" over and over again into Andy's mouth, until the girl came with a shudder, ripping her lips away from Miranda's as she cried out.

When Andy was next aware of her surroundings, she didn't know how much time had passed, or where exactly she was. All she knew was that a soft pair of lips was raining kisses on her face, and she was engulfed by the musky scent of sex and Miranda. She hummed contentedly, a wide smile spreading across her face as she slowly opened her eyes.

When their eyes met, Miranda pulled back a little, pushing Andy's dark hair out of her face, a matching smile playing on her lips.

"Miranda I –"

A finger against her lips silenced Andy, and she was glad, because she didn't have a clue what would've come out of her mouth next. Miranda bent down, gently tugging at Andy's lips with her own. Their lips nipped and caressed each other's, and Andy's hands began a curiously familiar circling motion down Miranda's back. She rolled them over, her hands skimming down Miranda's sides as the editor let out a chuckle.

"And here I was thinking you were too zoned out to reciprocate."

Andy giggled against Miranda's neck, her hands tossing away the black Chanel skirt.

"Never."

* * *

Reviews? Would make me a happy shipper ;)


	5. The Only Shape I'll Pray To

Hello!  
I know it's been ages, and I'm really sorry.  
But as you're all a bunch of Miranions, I'm sure details of my incompetence don't interest you.  
So without further ado, the title of this epilogue comes from Iron & Wine's song Jezebel,  
which everyone should listen to because it's beautiful. And sadly, it's the last part of this fic.  
Enjoy!

* * *

**Epilogue – The Only Shape I'll Pray To**

Spring hit New York in an explosion of sunlight and vibrant colors, the avenues filling with pedestrians of all ages and walks of life. Up above, unaware of the everyday commotion, Miranda Priestly sat in her office, twirling a pen between her fingers, her piercing eyes perusing the mock-up of Runway's next issue. There was no way she was going to be finished until way past the girls' bedtime. Again. The usual guilt crept into her mind, but then realization hit, and a tiny smile played on her lips.

She picked up her phone, hitting speed dial and waiting, for once quite patiently, for the person on the other end to pick up.

It had been exactly three months, two weeks and four days since she'd fired Andrea Sachs. She hadn't regretted the decision for a second since she made it. Things were better this way, much less complicated. Andrea had begun her new job at Vanity Fair after Christmas, and the new Emily was almost competent after a few months of strict training. Of course Emily (the real Emily) had been rather upset that her post as first assistant would have to be extended, but the glare that Miranda sent her had been enough to shut the redhead up before a single syllable left her mouth. Besides, Emily loved working for Miranda; everyone knew that.

"Miranda?" The voice that greeted her was surprised to say the least. Admittedly, Miranda didn't make it a habit to call the girl during work hours.

"Andrea, I'm afraid I'll be running late again. Would you mind putting the girls to bed tonight? Send the nanny home when you get there," Miranda's tone was casual, but her fingers dug sharply into her thigh as she waited. There was a long pause at the other end, and she knew Andrea was probably having some sort of debate in her mind as to whether this conversation was actually taking place.

"Are you still conscious, darling?"

The remark was answered with a nervous chuckle, and Miranda had to catch herself before she gushed at the adorable sound.

"So let me get this straight," Andrea coughed, her voice trembling slightly, "You want me to, umm. Go to the townhouse when I get off work, send the nanny home and put the girls to bed?"

"Precisely. Is there a problem?" Miranda teased, knowing full well that this was much more important to both of them than she was letting on.

"No, absolutely not, it's just," Miranda could hear the smile that crept onto the girl's face, "You've never. Umm. I mean. I feel very trusted. Thank you, Miranda."

"No, thank _you_, Andrea. I'm sure the girls will be quite pleased to have you there, the new nanny hasn't been exactly successful in winning their approval," Miranda smirked, thinking fondly of her feisty little twins, "Anyway, I've got to get back to work, the May issue is a disaster. How I ever hired these people is beyond my comprehension. Completely incompetent, each and every one of them."

Andrea let out a giggle, before daring to ask, "Surely not everyone. I'm sure Nigel and Emily have been working their butts off, right?"

"Well, Nigel is an exception to the rule, and Emily has been well trained. Otherwise, they're a bunch of over-paid imbeciles. I really must go now Andrea; this atrocity needs my undivided attention. I'll see you tonight."

"Right. Bye!" Andrea managed before Miranda hung up, her mind and pen back on the page before the phone even landed in her purse. After a few moments, the phone buzzed, announcing a new message.

_Is this why you gave me my own set of keys? ;) –A_

Miranda smiled, not even remembering to be annoyed that she was being distracted from her work, and replied.

_Of course not, you silly girl. This is merely and additional benefit of you having a key to my house. I'm sure you can think of a plethora of other, much more inspiring reasons why you ought to have access to the house at all times. – M_

It was only a few seconds before the phone buzzed again, and Miranda smirked victoriously.

_Jesus, Mira. I'm trying to work here. And didn't you just say you'd be working late? Not fair. –A_

_So am I, but you have a way of distracting me. This is why I never call you during the day. Your voice is bewitching, even over the phone. –M_

_Stop it. I'm NOT sexting with you. Especially if you're working late again. Consider this your punishment. – A_

_You're no fun. – M_

* * *

When Miranda finally dragged herself home, she opened the door to a dark, silent house. She was sure the cook had left some dinner in the fridge, but she was so exhausted that food seemed even more trivial than usual. Besides, she wanted Andrea; the woman's smooth skin and soothing embrace. That seemed to be the only thing that could calm her nowadays. How the tables have turned, she mused as she mounted the stairs, cursing for the millionth time her choice to buy a house with more floors than inhabitants. At least at the moment.

She peeked into the girls' rooms on her way, stopping for a moment to gaze at each of the sleeping teenagers. Sometimes she wished time didn't go by so fast. Soon Caroline and Cassidy would be off to college, and she'd be left with a huge house, and no one to share it with. Unless Andrea - but now really wasn't the time to think of that.

She shook herself, pushing the bedroom door open to find the brunette lounging in bed reading a book. The dim golden light from the bedside lamp made the woman's face glow, and Miranda remembered exactly why she thought this size-six girl with little to no understanding of fashion was the most gorgeous woman she'd ever seen.

The girl looked up, her eyes smiling as she put the book down and extended her arms towards the woman at the door.

"Hey, you. C'mere."

Miranda fell into bed, and was immediately pulled into a tight yet gentle embrace, the girl's hands drifting up and down her sore back. Pliant lips ran along the column of her throat, and she hissed softly before tugging at rich brown hair, coaxing the girl's lips to meet her own. Andrea complied happily, her mouth opening against Miranda's on a silent moan. When the younger woman's hands started unbuttoning her blouse, Miranda pulled back slightly, her face apologetic and her voice slightly breathless as she spoke.

"Darling, I don't think I can, tonight. I'm absolutely exhausted."

There was a mischievous sparkle in Andrea's eyes, and she nipped at Miranda's bottom lip before replying, "You don't have to do anything. Let me take care of you."

Miranda's eyes fluttered shut when she felt the brunette's hands unbutton the rest of her blouse, and the woman pressed her lips against her bra-clad breasts. Andrea's mouth roamed over her chest, licking, biting and soothing with those perfect, luscious lips. Miranda's breath came in gasps, and when Andrea's voice rumbled against her sternum, she let out a deep moan of approval.

"I want to make love to you."

Miranda knew that Andrea was not the type to not stand behind her words, and sure enough a second later she felt the woman's hand pushing off her black pants, her mouth descending slowly down the editor's stomach. Andrea's hand moved slowly over Miranda's silky lingerie, massaging her core through the delicate fabric, making the older woman gasp and squirm on the bed, her hands clenching the sheets.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Miranda felt the hand move up, and then under the waistband of her underwear. When two fingers slid into her heat, she let out a scream, quickly muffling it with her hand.

"You're so wet," Andrea murmured against her ear, making Miranda whimper as the fingers started a lingering motion inside her burning core.

Miranda threw her head back, unabashedly pushing her hips higher to meet the girl's thrusting fingers. When she felt Andrea pull back and plunge back in with three fingers, she let out a weak sob, pulling the girl's mouth back against her own, begging for release with a deep, ravenous kiss.

Andrea kept the pace of her fingers steady, and trailed down Miranda's body with her lips, taking a second to lick a pebbled nipple before wandering down the woman's burning skin. She pulled Miranda's clit between her lips, sucking the nub tenderly, flicking at back and forth slowly with her tongue, as the older woman thrashed on the bed, pushing her lower body up to meet Andrea's mouth.

"Ahh – Andreah – I –"

It took a few more flicks of Andrea's tongue, and Miranda's body tensed, her back arching as she tumbled over the edge, a deep moan leaving her lips as she came.

Andrea watched the Miranda as she undulated on the bed, her face a mask of euphoria, her hands clutching the sheet. The aftershocks still ran through Miranda, as the girl reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. Miranda's eyes rolled back, and she pulled the younger woman into her arms, breathing heavily as she basked in the afterglow of her orgasm. Her lips grazed Andrea's temple, and she caressed the girl's dark hair, whispering a soft "thank you" into the darkness.

* * *

The girl had been silent so long that Miranda was sure she'd fallen asleep. She was on the verge of slumber herself, when a faint whisper pulled her back awake.

"Miranda?"

"Hmm?"

A silence followed, and Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but before the words escaped, she decided to wait it out. She felt the younger woman rolling away from herself and her eyes snapped open. She cringed at the worried undertone in her own voice as she spoke.

"Andrea?"

The brunette turned her head slowly to face Miranda. When their eyes met, Miranda sighed at the doe eyes that sparkled with tears through the darkness. She traced a finger along Andrea's outstretched arm, her eyes unwavering, waiting.

"I'm really happy. I hope you know that."

The words were a mere breath, but their effect was anything but insignificant. As her own eyes began to burn, Miranda pressed herself against the beauty lying in her arms, nuzzling her face into the woman's cheek. When she inhaled, the exquisite scent of _her_ Andrea engulfed her, and she felt warm tears run down her face.

"As you know, I hate repeating myself."

Miranda's voice didn't sound nearly as strong as she'd like, but she refused to stop there.

"So I need you to listen."

She could feel the younger woman grow tense in her arms, and for a split second she wished the girl put more faith in her. When she continued, her voice was barely a whisper.

"I love you. And for as long as you will allow me, I will be here. For as long as you want me, I will be yours. And probably after that, because frankly," here Miranda almost let out a laugh, but couldn't quite bring herself to, "you've ruined me for anyone else."

Her eyes had long been closed, but she could feel the smile that spread on Andrea's face, and the fingers that ran gently through her mussed hair.

"Say that first part again," came the woman's reply, breathed into Miranda's neck.

She couldn't help herself, her eyes remaining closed, as she grinned.

"The part about repeating myself?"

The gentle bite on her shoulder came as no surprise, and Miranda couldn't stop the laugh that erupted low from her chest. She may just have fallen even more in love with this beautiful creature.

"Mira. That's evil."

Finally Miranda opened her eyes to meet her favorite shade of brown, a dazzling smile on her lips as she spoke the words they both knew had never been uttered until a moment ago.

"I love you, my darling."

For half a second Miranda saw a brilliant smile, before the girl collapsed on top of her, her lips kissing away the tears on her cheeks. When a soft mouth finally pressed against her own, Miranda decided there could be no such place as heaven. For nothing could be as holy as this. The full lips that begged hers apart, or the soft tongue that traced a burning path along her lower lip.

"I – love – you."

The words were breathed, almost minutes apart, into Miranda's mouth. But she heard them, oh she heard. Her hands coming to rest on the smooth skin of Andrea's lower back, she knew those were definitely the only words she cared to hear for the rest of her life.

* * *

So that was that :) I wasn't even supposed to put any smut in this last one, it sort of just happened.. A happy coincidence! I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Let me know :)


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